The Morning Cup

You choose your favorite mug

But which one shall it be?

The calico cat, with face so smug?

Or one with cherry trees?

The trees will serve you well this day

The cherry blossoms blooming

It sits there in resplendent display

The anticipated moment looming

Then the first drops

Of the brown stream appear

Cascading, slosh and slops,

Music to your ear.

The pitch slowly rises

As the cup fills

And nothing disguises

Your new case of chills

Then comes the smell,

That blessed aroma,

That heralds the swell

Of your chosen persona.

You take a deep breath

And savor the notes

Of earth and chocolate

Of cinnamon oats.

You reach for the cold cream

And pour just a splash

It vanishes, sinking

And returns with a flash

You stir with a cool spoon

And the surface swirls

The color balloons

To match mama's curls

And now it is ready

You lift and inhale

The moment is heady

Your senses assailed

The beauty of the mug

The warmth in your hands

The dark, earthy hug

The moment demands

You take your first sip

The hot liquid splashes

And bursts past your lip

Your memory latches

Onto better times passed

And good times to come

And you are now at last

Ready to face the day's thumb.